Illuminate
by InTheOtakuCloset
Summary: Rogue likes to fancy Sting as his lantern, his light in the shadows. However, even the brightest of suns can harbor darkness at its core. Part One of a trilogy. Written before chapter 296, AU. Pairing is Vengeful!Sting x Blind!Rogue. Latest chapter:"Improvising." First fanfic, please review!
1. Jerk

**A/N: So I was searching FF when I realized that there were NO STING/ROGUE! I was always a Rogue fan, even in the beginning when he and Sting were a bunch of douchebags. Sting's grown on me since then, and they're both so smexy that I decided to ship them.**

**AU is my favorite genre, so I did a random idea asspull and said, "Hey, what if Rogue was BLIND?" One thing led to another, and I began to form my own idea of the third generation's story.**

**Chapter 295 had just been released after I put the finishing touches on my sort-of plot, so canon has essentially discarded for this story. Skiadrum and Weisslogia's story personalities are just my own little headcanon. Please tell me if I have any plotholes corresponding to what Mashima's written up to chapter 295. Raven Tail and Lumen Histoire were a pain to incorporate, and I may have left something out.**

**On another note, I'll be using an interesting method of writing this thing. I let you reviewers give a prompt, and I'll try to work with it. It can be anything- a word, scenario, sentence, or even a literary device like a simile or metaphor. I haven't decided whether the chapters will go in chronological order or not, but we'll see!**

**Warning: Severe canon divergence. Craptastic plot. May induce seizures in readers intolerant to bad writing.**

**Prompt: Self prompt, "jerk"**

* * *

_X77_

Skiadrum doesn't trust the spirits, even to this day. If anyone knew, they probably would accuse her of blasphemy and rebellion, among other unpleasant things. After all, it was only due to Yggdrasil's sheltering wings that dragons survived the Proditio in the first place.

Even so, the dragon spirits have taken from her too many times, left too many scars festering and burning, deep and ugly inside her. _Their_ _fault_, the monster within her snarls, _all their fault_.

However, attending the Tribute is one of her duties to the Dragon King, as Weisslogia had kindly pointed out the other day. She gave the jerk a nice scratch on his pretty face for that one.

The Temple of Wings isn't much to look at after over a thousand years of neglect. Dragons aren't the best at repairing anything, what with the gigantic talons and all. Warily looking at the worn and crumbling walls, Skiadrum wonders if 2,000 tons of falling rock would be enough to kill her. Maybe with a certain womanizing dragon as a shield...

"Hurry up, milady. Yggdrasil awaits." Weisslogia nudges her with his tail, lingering on her scales a moment too long. In response, Skiadrum nonchalantly flashes her talons, letting every razor sharp edge gleam in the light streaming in from the broken ceiling. The other dragon merely bares his teeth upwards in what almost resembles a human smile.

_How barbaric. Does he really think that condescending attitude will work on me?_ Skiadrum dislikes stupid beings. They are far too dangerous, and unpredictable to boot. "Or would you like me to carry you, milady?" Weisslogia looks maddeningly excited at the prospect.

...She remembers her mother telling her that idiots are to be ignored, and not mauled. It's only out of respect for the late Lady Leadrum that Skiadrum manages to dig her claws into the floor, and not Weisslogia's throat.

An hour later, the Tribute begins, and Skiadrum's destiny is set in motion.

* * *

**A/N: How did you like it? Sorry if it's confusing. (Please don't hurt me for the long author's note...) Rogue will appear soon, I promise!**

**Review today, and save a starving writer!**


	2. Scared

**A/N: So, decided I won't go in chronological order after all! I will put the year of the fic at the top, and maybe when I finish I'll post these ficlets in order but until then, be prepared for some time-jumping.**

**Warning: Blind Rogue, fail attempt at writing, confuzzling plot**

**Prompt: "scared"**

* * *

_X779_

Rogue curls up in the scratchy wool blankets, wondering when Mom and Uncle will come back. He's not used to being alone like this, with only Sting for company in the stillness of night. _It's lonely_, he thinks, inhaling the scent of dust and mold that should be lavender and warm arms around him and a steady heartbeat and-

It's only been an hour, and he misses her so much that his heart feels like it's tearing at the seams.

Vaguely, Rogue remembers a time when Skiadrum- _well, Rin now_- was hard, steely scales and not tender, vulnerable skin swathed in fabrics that made him sneeze when he sniffed them. He remembers panicking, screaming at the sudden change and _notmommywheresmommygitawayaw ayAWAY!_

But that was then, and this is now.

Besides, Rogue doesn't remember that panic as something that lasted very long. Mom turned softer, and a lot smaller, yes, but her smell was the same, and so was her voice; soft yet clipped, a knife hidden in evening shadows, and something you can _never_ mistake. Rogue's lived in darkness his whole life, learned to make up for it with his other senses. He goes with what most of his body tells him, because he knows the mind can play tricks. _Unlike some other people-_

Sting rolls over in his bed, or moves, at the very least. Rogue can't hear his breathing, but it's obvious that he isn't _really_ sleeping. Rogue remembers that it was awhile before Sting could sleep, back when the world was upside down and scales weren't scales anymore and old names were abandoned for new ones and you weren't sure what you _could_ believe. He'd asked Mom about that, and she had merely replied that few people were as stable as he was.

Rogue scowls. Stable is the opposite of _unstable_, which Mom uses when Sting or Weisslog-_Shin _(he'll never get used to calling him that) are teetering at the edge of a what she calls a cliff, trying to see how far down it goes. Sometimes he can even hear the rocks under them break loose and roll down, down, down a mountain so steep and scary that he can't even begin to imagine it.

The scowl deepens into a downright frown. Rogue doesn't like that Sting's not stable, because then he's _unstable_, and Rogue hates the idea of him -well, anyone, but _especially_ Sting- losing his balance and falling the way those pebbles sound, uneven and echoey and _very painful_. Rogue needs Sting to be stable. He needs Sting to always be there, confident and proud and _constant_.

Rogue has lost so many things he thought would last forever. He doesn't want to lose Sting, too.

A soft rustle alerts him to the fact that Sting is moving _again_. Rogue's thoughts flash back to the time when Sting was very _not_ stable, and sleepless nights tucked in hay in a stranger's barn, and how he couldn't stop moving then, either. "Sting?" he tries to make his voice soft and comforting, like Mom would. The other boy starts, and Rogue can hear his mattress deflate with a slight _whumpf_. He snorts. "I can tell you're not asleep, y'know. You're quieter when that happens." He adjusts himself, sitting upright so he can hear better.

"Can't sleep." The voice is muffled by something solid. Rogue is surprised. Is Sting actually hiding under the covers? "Monsters under bed." _Well_. That's new.

"You never complained before." Rogue wonders where he got the silly idea of _monsters_ from. He can't even hear anything besides his own breathing.

"I could see the moon from the caves, and Dad was there." Rogue can understand that. Uncle can- or at least, _used _to be able to- light up the night with a swipe of his hand. It wasn't so," Sting draws a shuddering breath, "_dark__." _Rogue flinches at that.

"Being in the dark isn't so bad," he mumbles. _He_ lives with it just fine. "That's a stupid reason to be scared. Go to bed."

Sting gives a short, nervous snicker that raises the hair on Rogue's neck. "Aren't you _ever _scared?" _Never_, Rogue wants to say, but that would be lying, and Mom says that lying to people you trust is a crime.

Sting may be not stable, but Rogue trusts him.

"When it's quiet," he says at last, "and I can't smell _someone, _cause then it's like _really _being blind. Not this," he gestures at his eyes, "sorta thing."

"Oh." The other boy thinks for a bit, and Rogue waits patiently for his response. He likes it better when Sting thinks, anyways. Then it's almost like talking to Mom. It takes awhile before Sting offers a question.

"Are you scared? Right now?" Rogue blinks. Sting is full of surprises today. _Am I scared?_ He doesn't like the answer he comes up with, but it's the truth.

"Yeah," he admits, and that little confession opens a whole floodgate of words. "I'm scared. I can't- this blanket is all I _can_ smell, and Mom's not here and I-I can't hear her breathing, but I usually can and I d-I don't know and this makes me a littleuncomfortablecanwejust stop-"

"Do you want me to come over?" Rogue stops his rambling. He hates it when he loses control like that. It's like something takes over, and suddenly his mouth isn't his own anymore and is saying things that he _never, ever _wanted other people to know.

Losing control scares him, which is why Rogue doesn't like to talk without reason.

He's almost tempted to refuse Sting's offer, but the other boy never takes 'no' for an answer and by the time Rogue decides to accept something _heavy_ hits him and the scent of grass and pine is in his face. "Hey," Sting says, and he sounds so sheepish that Rogue decides he won't slap him after all.

"Hmph." Rogue scooches over to make room, and Sting clambers in next to him. After some hesitation, Rogue decides to take advantage of his new bedmate. Snuggling close, Rogue buries his nose in Sting's shirt and suddenly there is nothing in the room besides trees and grass and the _thump, thump_ of Sting's heartbeat.

Turns out, that's exactly what he needed.

A tiny, miniscule smile forms on Rogue's lips as he drifts off into dreams of blissful days and forests and _freedom_. The happiness of those days are long gone, he knows. But he is warm and Sting is by his side, and when Mom and Uncle return they will be their own little family again.

_That's enough for me._

* * *

**A/N: Did you like it? Was it poop? PLEASE TELL ME.**

**Yes, Skiadrum and Weisslogia have taken human form. And aliases. And yes, they've abandoned the wilderness for human civilization. And their magic is gone? OH THE MYSTERY.**

**And yes, this takes place AFTER the other dragons disappeared. Hmmmm...**

**Reviews for the Writer's Soul plz?**


	3. Improvising

**A/N: So I figured that being blind would have an impact on Rogue's fighting style, big-time. So this is basically my For-Want-Of-A-Nail prompt for a For-Want-Of-A-Nail story.**

**By the way, you may have noticed the summary change in the story. I've decided to split this story up into something like a trilogy, with the first fic detailing everything up to the duo's first appearance in the manga, the second fic dealing with the plot of the Grand Magic Game, and the third fic will be something of an epilogue.**

**That way, it'll help simplify time jumping (which will become a major part of Illuminate.)**

**I really could use some prompts, by the way!**

**Warning: Um made-up dragonslayer magicky things.**

**Prompt: "improvising"**

**PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTES AT THE TOP AND BOTTOM. THERE ARE SOME VERY IMPORTANT THINGS WRITTEN THERE.**

* * *

_X782_

"No! Materialize the shadow, then throw it!" Skiadrum paces impatiently around Rogue, scowling impatiently. "You can make the shadow- why is _letting it go_ so difficult? Hone your senses! Concentrate!" She suddenly whacks the poor boy on the head with her fan, and Sting winces noticeabley at the loud _thwack_.

Weisslogia watches the scene unfold in bemusement, a tiny smile quirking at his lips. It's unusual to see Skiadrum so worked up during training. The shadow dragon is always so stoic, so eloquent-

"Fling it! FLING IT!" The former dragon maiden waves wildly, acting out a form Weisslogia knows all too well.

Nostalgia washes over him as his body longs for the familiar rush of magic, and he can almost picture deadly rays of light coming from his arms. The pleasant thought is ruined by the fact his arms are _human_, and he will never, ever feel magic of any sort again.

_The price of getting involved with otherworldly creatures_, he thinks with a sigh. Oh, well. What's done is done. More importantly, Skiadrum looks absolutely absurd flapping her arms like some giant bird. Weisslogia doesn't even understand why she bothers. A boy who can't see will never master a Wing Slash of any sort by mimicry.

He briefly considers interrupting the lesson and talking some sense into her, but decides she'd probably beat him into next week for trying. Besides, it's probably good for her to let loose occasionally. Skiadrum's so _reserved_ in public- it's almost painful to watch.

He remembers when they were young fledglings, barely into their fifth century. Then, she'd been calm, composed, and oh so refined. The perfect lady, and perfect shadow dragon. Quiet and hidden, with a wit sharp and quick as a serpent's tongue. Everyone would congratulate her parents, tell them they were blessed to have such a beautiful, intelligent, _proper_ girl. That's all she'd been to most people, a doll to be shown off and displayed to the world.

But Weisslogia had seen a girl with a spark in her eyes, and an inner fire smothered by shadows and darkness and _rules_. _I'd take a tempermental Skidrum over a repressed one any day_, he thinks. How anyone could try to hide something as fiery, as _gorgeous_ as that has always escaped him.

Even back then, he'd thought that Skiadrum would've been better off born as a flame dragon.

An jarring crack brings him back to the present as Skiadrum storms back to the camp, leaving Rogue with two halves of a _very_ familiar fan. Weisslogia considers going over to the boy, but Sting has taken that duty upon himself, it seems. Besides, he doesn't appear to be injured or in pain, and that's good enough for him.

_Better go tame the dragon_, he thinks, and goes off to find Skiadrum before she manages to destroy anything else, chuckling all the while.

* * *

Rogue is annoyed- no, he is _infuriated, _because Mom always said that his control over shadows was exemplery and to be any less than _exceptionally talented_ is something that should _never_ happen to him._  
_

"You okay, Rogue?" Sting cautiously touches the top of his head. He _hates_ it when people do that. It makes him feel insignificant and tiny, and the fact that he's a good head shorter than Sting only adds to his bad mood. His hand itches to slap Sting away, tell the idiot to just _go away_ and leave him alone-

_'Shadow dragons take their strength from being unreadable-'_

Well, yeah, but-

_'and a shadow dragon who lets__ his emotions get the better of him-_'

_Is nothing more than a foolhardy idiot,_ Rogue grudgingly concedes, and his stupid conscience (which sounds alarmingly like Mom) seems satisfied with that and shuts up. It isn't Sting's fault, after all. Not that it's Mom's fault, either. It's his weakness, his _stupid_ inability to do a simple Wing Slash without failing miserabley.

"What's wrong, Rogue?" Sting squeezes his shoulder and Rogue _almost_ snaps and kicks him, but he remembers what Mom said and composes himself, pulling a veil of apathy around him with a nonchalance that would make Mom proud.

"Nothing," he says, shaking his head for good measure. He doesn't see the use of accompanying words with physical gestures, but people seem to take it as a sign of sincerity.

Not that he sees the value of being sincere, either.

"Liar," Sting says, and there's a scowl in his voice that escapes Rogue completely. What has he got to be mad about? Of course Rogue is lying- he simply told Sting what he wanted to hear, that's all. Then again, Sting seems to be dissatisfied with 'what he wants to hear' an awful lot. "I can see right through you." He frowns. Well, _that_ is a problem. Sting frequently seems to have the ability to read him with a scary accuracy, and Rogue can't figure out why.

"I told you, nothing's wrong. I'm just having difficulties, is all." That _is_ true. "Letting go of the shadows is harder than I expected." _Also_ true. Maybe it's because he's blind, but Rogue has always _felt_ his shadows, like a part of his body. That's why he can twist them into shapes, making complex figurines and coils that Mom says no one else could ever accomplish.

That's also why he can't throw them off; he may as well just cut off his arm.

"It's nothing to be concerned about." Half-true. It's nothing for Sting to be concerned about. For Rogue, it's an entirely different story.

He gently removes Sting's hand, and resumes training by himself.

Sting doesn't say a word.

* * *

Sometimes, Rogue worries Sting. Actually, Rogue worries him all the time. He says things he doesn't mean and doesn't get that it's _wrong_ and wears a blank face like it's his real one when it's not. He says he's fine, but Sting knows him better. Rogue is frustrated, and yeah, Sting knows it must be hard when everything's always come easy to you (he feels a twinge of jealousy, because it's so obviously true) and suddenly something's _hard_, but Rogue bottles it up inside and never cracks an inch.

But one day, he'll explode. And that's what Sting's afraid of.

It hurts, that Sting could ever be afraid of Rogue.

Rogue, who's great at studies and magic and cooking and probably whatever he sets his mind to.

Rogue, who has rubies for eyes and the girliest face Sting has ever seen, who can spit poison barbs instead of words and still look so _innocent_.

Rogue, who speaks too carefully and too guardedly, like he's speaking to a judge instead of his best friend.

Rogue, who looks weaves lies like a master, effortlessly creating a tapestry of falsehoods and understatements.

Rogue, who thinks average is terrible and feeling vulnerable is a weakness and that it's always _my fault__, my fault_ and not _their fault._

Rogue, who Sting would trust with his life but never his heart.

Sting isn't quite sure what to make of that, in the end.

He wants to help Rogue train, he really does, but Sting isn't sure the other boy would take that. Rogue is unpredictable, even to him. Sometimes he reminds him of a whip, curled up and docile looking, but with the ability to snap and sting at the flick of a wrist. (_Except, _he thinks, _it's much easier to for Sting to sting Rogue than for Rogue to sting Sting, _and then he wonders what exactly Dad and Auntie were thinking when they named them.)

Then he's thinking about whips and how they're kind of like an extension of one's arm, and as Sting's mulling over this, he has what Dad would call an _epiphany. _It comes to him in a brief flash of realization, as it does to most light dragons, and suddenly everything is crystal clear.

"Rogue!" He yells, and his friend nearly falls flat on his face, "Rogue, I got an idea!" And Rogue listens, because everyone knows Sting's ideas are the _greatest_.

* * *

Weisslogia has just hauled Skiadrum to the edge of the field when Sting appears, screaming like a maniac that 'Rogue is doing something _beast!'_ and that it's totally _amazing_, and he'd like to say that it was all _his_ idea.

Sometimes, he wonders about the sanity of his very dear - but rather hyper- son. However, he decides that he'd be babbling like an idiot too if he was Sting, because Rogue is indeed doing something that is _very_ interesting.

Rogue turns to them, and while he doesn't quite meet them face to face, it's good enough that when he extends a thin tendril of _writhingwildshadows_ it brushes Weisslogia's shoulders. The small boy's eyes widen in surprise. "You're wearing a _fur_ vest?" and it's said with so much disbelief that Skiadrum elbows him in the ribs.

"I _told_ you you have terrible fashion sense."

Weisslogia doesn't respond that _hello_, _his fashion sense is_ _amazing_ because really, he's more preoccupied with the little boy who looks like he has tentacles for arms. Sting gestures dramatically and announces, "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you..." He takes a deep breath for effect, "the SHADOW DRAGON WING WHIP!" The last sentence is bellowed with a force that Weisslogia would compare to a dragon's roar, and Rogue rubs his ears, wincing.

Their resident dragon maiden is the only one who appears completely unfazed, and Weisslogia can't help but look at her questioningly. "Your son may have created a brand new dragon slaying move; aren't you even surprised?"

Skiadrum looks aggravatingly smug as she replies. "He's _my_ son," _as if that explains anything_, "and shadow dragons are good at improvising." Sting snorts, and when Weisslogia doesn't respond, he kicks his father in the shins.

"Ow! You little- I mean, wasn't that _Sting's_ idea?"

A moment of silence, then Skiadrum grumbles out, "_perhaps._" Score one for the light dragons.

* * *

Sting is satisfied when he sees that although Rogue looks as impassive as usual, there's a hint of light in his eyes. _Like a firefly_, he thinks, and he decides that that look suits him the best.

* * *

**A/N: Whoo, some parallels between the former dragons and their children! As you can see, shadow dragons are pretty much the equivalents of the evil upper-class stereotype- stifling and snobby, and a firm believer in prim and proper.**

**Not exactly the best fit for someone like Skiadrum.**

**Additionally, Rogue may be a _bit_ different from before. He's grown up, and lost a lot of his innocence. Not only that,shadow dragons are taught this whole OUR WAY IS THE RIGHT WAY junk, which Skiadrum unfortunately passed on to her kid over the last 3 years. Worse****, HER WAY happens to be "you show emotion, you die in the very vicious world of the Dragon Court" (As expected from a former dragon court lady!) Plus, her temper means she's inclined to hit anyone who disagrees with her, including Rogue.**

**So, Rogue is devoted, almost to a fault, to what his mom says. Thus the whole APATHY! LYING IS GOOD! thing. It's what Skiadrum was taught, and what she teaches Rogue.**

**And to Rogue, his Mom is always right.**

**I admit, it's not good for his mental health. Currently, Rogue is _very_ dependent on his Mom to guide him through the convulted maze that is Life, as we saw in the previous chapter. As a result, he's also cripplingly insecure, which just leads him to be a total perfectionist, bury the emotions he thinks are weaknesses, and mindlessly obey whatever his Mom says.**

**Thus, a very vicious cycle. But don't worry! He'll break out of it... ****hopefully... besides, I'm planning on giving Sting his own little problems, too! Then no one can say I beat up Rogue too much :)**

**And yeah, I totally made a new move. Now Rogue can be like Doctor Octopus! or something...**

**PLEASE LEAVE ME A PROMPT OR REVIEW. FOR THE STARVING AUTHOR IN ME. **


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